


Invincible

by TheTwistingBunny



Category: Homestuck
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-12
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:48:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTwistingBunny/pseuds/TheTwistingBunny
Summary: There was no such thing as Invincible.





	1. Work

You didn’t expect shit to shake out like what it did. This was all wrong, the tacky feeling of dark-ass violet blood on your fingers was clammy as fuck. Couldn’t rightly make out no sound, no, looking down at the sorry as sorry-could-be wreck sprawled out all undignified like at your feet. Not moving, not making so much as a single sniffy utterance. If your lusus could see you now, gawking like this. Supposed you’d have to say something, something like-   
Today, in schoolfeeding, you suppose you just learned there was No such motherfuckin’ thing as invincible.

“Ampora!”

“Can you hear me?”

“Open your goddamn goggly fishy eyes motherfucker I KNOW you ain’t dead--!” 

Let’s back up. Try to figure it out. From the top.

Name? Samedi Makara. Student at the /MOST/ illustrious motherfuckin’ Royal Alternian Gallionic Establishment. 7 sweeps old, smooth as fuck and something smells good. REAL good, like something what came off the campus. ‘Cause it sure as shit wasn’t the reek of blandness that was getting all up in your cartilaginous nub. Nor, was it rightly, the smells which hung around old nutrition cylinders where they dumped them off by the L.E.R.N schoolhive where all the gutterbloods go. Nah brother this shit must have been fresh for you to pick up on it from all the way over here.

“Ay, you listenin’?” A hand knocks up against his shoulder. Getting a salty-ass glance in their direction. Them, being Pluren Valaes, one of the very few other purples in this joint. He was a stocky motherfucker, closer to the ground. Got kind of a greasy look about him, like an oily ass rat. But it's hard to mind, that’s a brother’s homie after all.

“Nah. What’d you say?” Kinda hard to focus when there was something much more interesting not far from here. But never mind that, Samedi turns ganderbulbs right way ‘round to look at his lecturer who was glaring back at him pretty harshly.

“I /SAID/ this remedial apiculture bullshit is gonna send me straight to the looneyhive, was askin’ if you had any kinda like- /notes/ or something. ‘Cause I know you failed it the semester before.” Pluren shook the battered textbook at him vigorously. The thoroughly defaced pages threatening to fall out of the unthreaded spine like leaves off a tree. Except these leaves are covered in anatomically incorrect scrawls of bulges and swearwords. Samedi reaches out and plucks the middle of the book out, strings coming loose as he flips through a few of the pages. He pulls a face slowly, looking at the diagrams and mathematical figures suddenly flopping out in front of his eyes like they mean some shit.

“Shit no, I don’t remember this at /all/. Plus I ain’t even know the meaning of ‘take notes’ brother, I’m the motherfucker bitches take notes ON.” Valaes looks crestfallen as all get out. Rubbing at their temples and he’s pretty sure he heard a ‘fuckin’ useless’ come out of those lips but before he can get to splittin’ them open for startin’ shit there is a little cough on the other side of him.

“Dunno why they’re teaching us Apicultah, that shit’s pissblood work.” That derails the fight at least, little sister Gladix Hefsus [for all them who ain’t in the know] was looking up from her considerably less damaged textbooks at them. That was the other purple blood up in this hive, a sister no less. Really motherfuckin’ helped keepin’ the creepy ass quad-flirts off from the rest of the femme-types. Could just point her out and the hoes stepped off real fast. She had curly hair whipped up into some fancy ass ringlets. Horns like bike-handles, thicc as fuck. Moving on, don’t need to be checking her out. That’d be like checking out a cholerbear and acting confused as fuck when your holding your guts instead’a your bulge. 

“You say that-” Valaes pipes up, getting a sly look about him. “But I seen you by the fence near the LERN talkin’ to that skinny ochre blood.” Gladix grits her fangs as he opened his mouth again. “What’s her name? Rifehy?”

“Riphka Gulite, shut your slime-hole you reprehensible scum-sucker, an’ don’t you go watchin’ me. Shit’s creepy as fuck.” She leans over, and Valaes leans in to, hissing at each other right in front of him. Samedi misses part of what they’re blabbing about when the smell hits him again. But when he came back, namely due to Pluren’s claws digging into his thigh. She was frowning, but that was pretty standard. “What I do or who I see when that mothafuckin’ schoolhive bell rings ain’t yo bidness Pluren.” 

“Hold up, ‘fore you two get to hate-mackin’ you mind letting a brother up?” Samedi raises his hands in mock supplication, “Fuckin’ spittin’ spades everywhere. I don’t wanna get caught up t’ween your sweaty asses.” That made Gladix hiss at him instead, slugging him in the shoulder. Again when she saw the grin plastered across his features. The longest of his fangs poking out over his lip. Too big for his jaws you might say. But she backs up enough, throwing her books across the lush puce grass to let him up. Fuck this, he ain’t auspisizing tonight. They could get their tussle on without his fine self bein’ all up in it. He slides out from between them, dusting his trousers off. Cleaning up the hollowed out circle pattern as best as he can. Brushing off grass trimmings and glancing back just in time to see Gladix’s half seated spring across the spot where he was just sitting. Slamming into Pluren with her full weight and pinning him down on the grass laughing even as she drew back and nailed him. Turning that laugh into a high pitched squeal of pain.

Samedi jams his prongs into his pockets and gets his /saunter on/. Prowlin’ up the grass all slow like, making it more like a leisurely stroll than him just scenting the air for whatever kind of treat has found its way here onto the grounds. Smelling /so/ good and so nice it got him to ditch his homies and go wandering off like some kind of bark-fiend hoping to get a marrow bone before the ferals out in the woods did. It's a nice night, the twin moons hang up in the sky. Pink closer than green, both of them are alternating halves. Like if you pressed those motherfuckers together you’d have a pink AND green moon on your claws. Lookin’ all gorgeous like a bi-colored hybrid ought too. What could he say, he had an eye for hues. Some of them looked better together than other. His taste for art was well known among the schoolfeeders. Namely it was the only class he never needed a remedial session in. He sniffs lightly at the air again, closing his eyes like that would help him locate it better. Didn’t help a damn bit, but the wind blew sharp and that was just what he needed. It was close. Real close.

Circling around the building had him picking up his pace, not enough to break the languid stride he had going on but enough to keep the air moving so he could up and smell it proper. Passed the fogged up windows of class blocks and communal spaces alike. Passing the bleak landscape of the dark-season garden, wouldn’t shit grow ‘til it warmed up a little bit. But it didn’t matter, because his eyes locked suddenly on what he was /certain/ was the source of that smell. No doubt about it, fried grub. He knew the smell anywhere, all blistering hot with oil and sauce dripping down off its crispy legs. Sitting there all sorts of unguarded on a paper wrapper. Right by the big fountain no less. Samedi considers it his lucky night to see some easy /prey/ for once. He crosses the cement walkway, all set with big broken river rocks right on up to that tasty morsel and nabs it with two claws. It is this close to meeting final oblivion in his maw when he hears a /noise/. A quiet, uppity little -Ahem- from somewhere down below. 

“Excuse me.” The voice says and he finally relents from gazing at his prize. Looking down at the most unfunny looking motherfucker he ever did set eyes on. A /violet/ no less, staring at him. “Ah do believe tha’s mine.” Weren’t a lick of malice in his voice, which was never a good sign. No, he was just peeping up with big just barely filling in eyes like they were so watery they might very well fall right out of his skull if you hit him hard enough. 

“Is it now?” He snarls back down at the considerably smaller looking troll. Not that it mattered really, size didn’t count for SHIT when it came to waders. But he was getting better at beating them. They tended to be…frightened by him. Head and shoulders above every troll in the academy. Horns jutting up above the adults even, he was goggling up at nine feet of raw purple ferocity to his common, but still lacking seven. Samedi was already the size of a grown ass troll, Always been like that, getting skinnier by the sweep. Not that it mattered, he was happy to see the grubfat go. He leans forward slowly, making sure to fix the bleeding /red/ streaks in his eyes on this uppity wader. It tended to get to them.

“It is, an’ I’d appreciate ya givin’ it back. Too hot ta eat anyhow.” He stands his ground, and that’s about when he knew this wasn’t gonna be so easy. ‘Cause this motherfucker had a whole BAG of treats beside him. Leaned up against his immaculate textbooks. Fuckers weren’t even barkbeast eared, the pages were white and clean in their gold filligree’d covers. New student, had to be. First of his KIND for that matter. Violets didn’t usually do nothin’ but hivefeedings, etiquette and all that. A highblood institution put together by Empresses gone by wasn’t good enough for most of ‘em. Busy sitting in their parlors, only lettin’ somebody who’s got more sway than they do to see ‘em before they ascended. But here THIS ONE was, staring at him expectantly. Jutting out one hand like a petulant wriggler, which he noted the claws were absolutely bedecked in rings. Looking all fine and thin like they ALWAYS did. 

New students, psh. The still steaming grub goes right into his mouth and he bites it clean off the stick. Ignoring the pain that blossomed through his mouth at having something so unholy hot up in his maw. It was already leaving bubbles of pain in the palate but he swallows it down without choking. The Sea dweller looks displeased. His long, curling fins flicking outward as though it would make him seem a little bit bigger. His hand drops back to his side. Curling his arms back behind himself, to clasp his prongs neatly. Glancing at him with all the gumption known to troll.  
“Name’s Samedi motherfuckin’ Makara, I take it you ain’t got no idea how shit’s done ‘round here do you?”

“M’ name is Tybrus Ampora.” The response calls, all high and nasally as expected. But the thickness of that accent detracted from any proper tone this sea dweller happened to have. Which lead Samedi to really study him, his face, his features, his clothing even. Well pressed of course, not a thread out of place on the uniform. The membranes of his fins though, and the cracks of color coming in through the yellow. It was a dark, ugly shade. The /bottom/ of the barrel in terms of violet coloration. “An’ frankly ah couldn’t give less ouvva-.”

“Lemme stop you right motherfuckin’ there.” Oh they were close now, the sea dweller- Tybrus. That was his name, came just a little bit closer to poke one of his claws into Samedi’s chest. Sharp and insistent like, but his indignant expression didn’t come with any further words.   
“Ain’t got a lot of salt water in those veins do you Tibby?” 

He goes heliotrope at the cheeks, gritting his fangs. They were solid, triangular looking things, serrated it looked like. But knowing seadwellers, well, those things come out of their mouthes easy and get hung up in your skin. Not a flat tooth in his jaws.   
“Y’damn near /purple/-” 

“Shut yer mouth, ya good fer nothin’ sand sucker. Ah am /violet/ an’ you will treat me like it!” 

“Shiiiiiit, you ain’t got NO idea do you?” He seems unperturbed by the grin he gets. Squaring his shoulders smartly under that ironed uniform coat. His claws have curled into proper fists but he hasn’t swung yet. A good sign, meant they were scared. Always so scared to face down something much bigger and /badder/ than they were.   
“Look brother, hand over them goodies-” Samedi makes a gesture towards the white paper parcel sitting beside his textbooks all inconspicuous and pleasant. The pastel blue ribbon wrapped around it promised many, many things.   
“And since you’re all hard and not broke in yet. I won’t bust yo’ motherfuckin’ skull open like its outta my ‘Dex.” 

A dark tongue slides over those triangular fangs.   
“Try me, y’fuckin’ half-mutant /scum/.”

Those were the first words ya’ll ever up and threw at one another. Resulting in the first /punches/ ya’ll slung. It had gotten broken up by a educuller pretty quick though. Being right outside the front of the school, but not before he’d sunk his teeth into Samedi’s arm and he’d decked him so hard as to pull a few out. The two of them having locked together in a vicious little skirmish ‘til an old bitch with a rulerkind specibus came out and started laying the smack down on both of ya. Against the rules she says, clawing at one another like lowbloods without issuing a Proper strife. Took great pleasure in seeing his face when you both got detention. No skin off this motherfucker’s nub though, been in and out of detention for as long as he could remember. But this, this was Tybrus’s first night and it looked like- well. It looked like his lusus had up and told him NOT to go startin’ shit and yet here he is. Startin’ shit with the best of them. 

The way he’d gathered up his books /and/ that bag, shooting Samedi the absolute dirtiest look he seemed capable of giving was strangely exhilarating in a way. Enough to make him grin all lecherous at Tybrus’s retreating back as he fled behind the educuller. Of course around then, a motherfucker started noticing some damn unfunny sounding giggles coming from around the corner. Ears flicking out, it wasn’t more than a couple of little ceruleans. Lower class, this whole place was mostly indigos and ceruleans, only six purples and a violet. Not that he really counted, with blood like that. Either way, Samedi squares his shoulders and starts after them like he's about to throw hands and they scatter like nibblevermin. Moseying back to Gladix and Pluren, looking much more disheveled than when he left. Flopping down between the two of them and idly running his icy tongue over the burns his mouth had sustained from a well pilfered treat. His arm stung like a motherfucker but it wasn’t so bad. Hadn’t gone through the academy issue chitin nor his own hide. Not all the way, just leaving angry ugly looking bite marks in stark purple. Indents really, as they weren’t bleeding. He’d tried though, messiahs he had /tried/. Enough to make a brother really consider whether or not he would’ve tried so hard if Samedi had been done up proper with his posse behind him. Maybe, maybe not, but it didn’t really matter. Because the klaxons rang out and it was time for class. Oppression Studies for him, Remedial Apiculture for Pluren and Scriveners Lessons for Gladix. The educullers had long since figured out that putting them all in the same classes together was just asking for mayhem of the most righteous kind.

Only these brief moments, between classes. At recess and after shit chilled out for the coming day and they were all sprawled out in their respective dormitories. The purple sector was big as life and twice as wide. But there were only six trolls in to occupy it. Part of him wondered what the Violet sector was like. How empty that fucker’s gotta be, nobody to talk too or fight with even. Sounded like…isolation really-. He shoves those thoughts out of his thinkpan and gets a fire under his ass to get to Oppression Studies on time. No need to rack up even more detention. He would actually enjoy keeping some skin on his bones what to rest in his ‘coon after all. Them Flayers ain’t no joke if they catch you goofing off when you’re supposed to be putting your nose up in the book’s nook like you actually give a damn what its supposed to be saying.

Samedi makes it to class with thirty seconds left to spare. Which was a new record, the Feeder Trivil seemed shocked to see him saunter in and take his usual study-slab at the back. Actually take his books out of his sylladex after gratuitously shattering the skull they were kept in and doing some proper work for a change. So shocked in fact, that they up and forgot to be assigning hivework at the end of class. Like any motherfucker was gonna be stupid enough to remind them when the load was bad enough as it was. He shuddered to think of all the unfinished assignments he had backed up in his ‘Dex still. But, if detention didn’t prove all that interesting. Maybe he’d actually give doing his work a shot. If he got tired of throwing paper triangles at the back of the indigo bloods’ heads who had the misfortune of sitting just before him.

Fat chance of that really.


	2. Play

“He’s in real bad shape.”

“Oh jeeze, oh fuck, oh /Empress/. We are so fuckin’ screwed. Gonna get expelled or culled or BOTH--”

“Shut up already, a motherfucker is FINE. Breathin’- I can feel it.”

Your ears were ringing, and you weren’t all that sure if Tybrus was fine.

The klaxons blare, classes end, and trolls filter out of the teaching blocks. Most of them hurrying under the weight of their holding satchels to their dormitories. Ready to get their noses buried up in the sharp pages. Hoping to absorb whatever mystifying knowledge was deemed necessary for their grades to stay out of the load gaper. Or falling exhausted into the pitying embrace of their ‘coon, drifting off into sleep. Maybe they’d stop by the cafetorium, grab a plate of grubloaf and tuberpaste, shoveling it down between rapid flicking of papers, pencils and datahusks. Trying to absorb as much knowledge as trollianly possible. Quizzes and tests loomed like culling drones over the entirety of the academy. But there were a handful of trolls who didn’t get the luxury of shuffling into the archives, or joining in on various extra cullricular activities. Those were the forsaken, the judged- /the ones in detention/. It was deemed early on in RAGE’s history that culling the students was a mercy as that put an end to their schoolfeeding. So a far more cruel, and unusual punishment was devised. When all of your frenemies got to knock off and lounge about on the moonlit grass. You had to report to a teaching block set aside specifically for detention and sit there. Doing your hivework was acceptable, but general socializing, rabblerousing and even- as an insult to the unwell among the students. /Leisure-Reading/ wasn’t permissible, no the Schoolfeeder had shelves upon shelves of the driest, most technical tomes for every conceivable subject should you not have anything to do.

The inventive malevolence was awe-inspiring. Such methods were being researched by even the highest echelons of inquisitors in the Empire. Samedi had, with a heavy pump biscuit excused himself from their evening plans of defacing a particularly clean looking wall of the LERN facility across the fence. He’d already created a rough series of images they would’ve painted but the introduction of a seadweller. As well as their subsequent brawl in the courtyard [no matter how short lived that shit was] had landed him here. The usual suspects were looking languid as fuck at their desks, a few rough Indigos, a couple rowdy Ceruleans. Outcasts really, There was only one troll up in this piece with enough gumption to sit his happy ass right up in the front row and that- was /Tibby/. Detention hadn’t even formally started yet but he was studiously scrawling across papers like a wriggler-possessed. Books propped open, it’d be cute if it wasn’t stupid. Dumbass was gonna get all his hivework done before the schoolfeeder even showed her maw. He decided then and there, that trying to help this fish out for the second time might be a pretty good idea. So with all the swagger of a just-quadded-lusus he strolls up to the edge of Tybrus’s desk. Knocking his boot against the leg and making the whole thing jerk.

“What’d’yew want?”   
The hiss of his voice was strained, like he was trying to keep from yelling. Like repository block rules applied. His collar was still a little disheveled from their scuffle. Sticking up oddly from one corner as he clutches a brand new Aristology 101 “Which Fork?” textbook to his chest like it was the most precious thing on Alternia and Samedi even LOOKING at it was an affront to its very nature. He hugs it a little tighter when Samedi looks back up at him.

“Jus’ wanted to say you better pace yo’self wit’ that hivework. If you ain’t got nothin’ to do, they start handin’ out the textbooks and that shit sucks.”  
Why was he bothering to administer this advice? It wasn’t like there was a chance in hell that Tybrus was going to listen to him. He expected a snark reply along the lines of ‘Well ah actually loike textbooks so there!’ or something similarly lame-

“Ah. Thanks then.”

Oh.

Tybrus slowly puts the book back down on the desk, closed. Turning his undoubtedly erudite as fuck eyes onto what he’d already written rather than looking at the troll who was standing in front of him. Samedi at least seemed to get the picture that the conversation was over and took the desk directly behind him after squaring up to an Indigo for half a second before they relented [probably fearing more detention] and got out of his way. It was safe to say that he was a little shocked that Tybrus had listened to him, and for that matter. Thanked him, it made a weird knot form in his nutrition sac as he dropped his own books onto the desk with a loud bang. Relishing in the flinches it got from trolls on all sides. Seadweller included, which dissipated the strange feeling and allowed him to slump into his seat. Just in time too, since no sooner did his rear meet the spongy bio-form did the schoolfeeder come toddling in with their Edu-Drone following close behind. Ah, great, it was Feeder Jousir, it wasn’t gonna be so bad. Jousir never slept enough at hive, so she always took Detention as a way to catch some quick Z’s when she took a little Drowzite.

It took her about ten short-form temporal units to get the Gray Lady out and pop a couple of Drowzite capsules into her maw. Falling into only occasionally twitchy sleep twenty units later, the class erupted into chaos exactly five after. The Indigos had formed up to bother the Ceruleans, the trolls who were actually trying to study or worked looked miffed as hell. Tybrus was sitting there with his back ramrod straight against the bio-form, drumming his claws absently against the plasticine covering. Leaving tiny prick marks in the soft surface that reformed as the bio-mass making up the entirety of the desk pulsated, moving new ooze into the area to compensate. Samedi sits up slowly, taking his eyes off of his slyence hivework to reach out and tap Tybrus on the shoulder. Making him jerk slightly and twist around to glare at him.

“What?” He asked in the slightly strained voice again.

“Just saying Hi, damn. What’s got up your nook?” Honestly, some trolls could be SO touchy. Like in the sense that they couldn’t just roll with shit and had to get all huffy and mad. Like this one was right now.

“Fuckin’- are we expected t’ stay ‘ere all day? Ah hafta get back t’ my respiteblock so ah c’n write my lusus! This is absolutely-!”  
His tirade was interrupted by Samedi shushing at him, pressing one long claw to his face, right over his maw which just got his fins to flare out angrily. 

“Listen, you might learn somethin’. We only gotta stay here ‘til that hand up there-.” He points towards the jagged, imperial red one sticking over a 5, “Gets to the motherfuckin’ Six then we can leave.” The explanation seems to have soothed Tybrus somewhat as his fins drop back down to their normal elevation and Samedi removes his hand.

“Ah, well, why’s th’ schoolfeeder asleep ain’t she s’ppoz’d ta be watchin’ us ‘r somethin’?”   
An accusing glance is sent in Jousir’s direction. But then its right back on Samedi.

“ ‘Cause she ain’t good for shit, used to be a LERN feeder, got over here somehow. We just leave her here so she’s stuck in the block over-day.” She never seemed to learn, or maybe she liked that they did that. Since technically if she was stuck here while the sun was up that meant she had even more time to sleep. 

“Oh.”   
He seemed disappointed by that answer, the look of irritation wavering considerable for a few seconds before solidifying once more.  
“Why’d you get me in trouble on my first fuckin’ night ‘ere ov’r’ah candied grub?”

Yeah, probably should have expected this one, Samedi shifts slightly in his seat. Glancing around the bare, undecorated walls as though some kind of answer would appearify before him.  
“No reason, jus’ like candied grubs, and you weren’t motherfucking eating it.”

“I was waitin’ for it to cool off!” 

“It was cool enough to me-.” He lies, tongue rubbing against the sore burned spots along his palate. They were probably going to sting, and ache for at least a couple of days. Maybe if they were bad enough he could go to the Mediculler’s office and have an excuse to skip classes that night.

“Y’still should’a gave it back when ah said it was mine. Yer a lower caste’n ah am.”

He snaps out of wherever the fuck that thought process was leading to sneer at Tybrus who had risen his eyebrows quite dramatically as though that were the most obvious thing on planet Alternia. Which, yeah, it was. Sure, but Samedi had a few /disagreements/ with that philosophy for /religious/ reasons.  
“You’re barely a fish motherfucker, I got my peep on at what sorta ocean-swill’s creepin’ through your veins. A l’il darker and you would’ve been a Purple.” 

“Would you stop sayin’ that!”

“See? Real fish would’ve punched my ass for sayin’ that shit, you’re just a purple with some big fancy fins-”  
He’d been about to continue insulting Tybrus’s blood color to his endless amusement but the Sea dweller just hisses at him and swipes his textbooks off his desk onto the floor in a great clattering heap before turning back around the other way.

Which is single clawedly the most petty shit Samedi has seen in his entire life and it was glorious.

Tybrus seemed to have gone back to ignoring him now, burying his nose right in his textbook. Holding the thing up to his face as though it was a shield between himself and the world. So he took this opportunity to slide out of his desk, circling around to stoop and pick up the scattered books. Plucking them up by their battered spines along with his writing instruments and scriveners tablet. The Schoolfeeder snorts under their breath and he jerks, peeking over the edge of the adjacent desk. Before glancing over at Tybrus.

Just in time to get a glimpse of the Seadweller’s triangular fanged scowl and the cover of “Massacrematics II” flying towards him and slamming into his nose. The crunch of cartilage being forced until its fragile supports broke, followed by a gush of purple blood dripping out onto his shirt. Free claws coming up to grip at it as a slow, burbling exhale of bloody air came from his now decidedly broken olfactory receptor. Biting back a flush of- a feeling he didn’t recognize and quickly filed away where it can be dealt with later. The secondary reaction is a snarl from the pain which had blossomed up through where the spine of that book had hit him. Leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache after that initial flash of agony. Third order of business was the hiss of nasally laughter from that goddamn wader sitting there. Looking smug as motherfucking troll-ly possible. 

“’Ow d’ya like ‘em seagrapes ya fuckin’ good fer nothin’ land-dweller?” He titters between breaths, so busy gloating with his fins held high. That he didn’t quite see the incoming fist [now stained nicely with purple blood] veering towards his face. Catching against one of his cheek bones, sending him sprawling backwards out of his seat with an undignified squawk. He hits his horns on the way down, the keratin making a satisfying clack against synthetic wood fibers. They’d garnered the attention of the rest of the class now, the steady chatter morphed into gutterblood-like whooping. 

 

"Show that wader what you're made of Makara!" Copsor yells above the din as she nearly tumbles out of her desk with a too vigorous punching gesture. Managing only to save the action and subsequently her face from smashing into the floor by clinging onto the loose hem of Yedirl's jacket. Nearly pulling them over in the process as well, but the combined power of two dorks sitting too close to one another prevails over gravity. This time at least.

Back to the important shit though, namely the satisfying feeling of his fist connecting with Tybrus's cheekbone. The look of smug achievement flying off of his face, and for that matter some dark violet blood filled spit soaring off into the crowd met by the disgusted squeals of ceruleans it landed on. Landing on the cold, hard linoleum floor and laying there for a few seconds, analyzing exactly what the FUCK just happened. Before he scrambles to his feet,  
that only seemed to incite the crowd’s blood lust further as the seadweller threw the textbook he had clutched to his chest on the way down with unparalleled carelessness. [It flapping away like a terrified squawkbeast.] Taking a step back, then darting forward to plant one strutpod on the seat of his desk and promptly launch himself at the smirking clown who dared strike him. It would have been pretty cool if his other strutpod hadn’t caught on the bar and turned the jump into more of a botched lunge. Or more accurately a clumsy-as-fuck fall out of the sky like the gimpy piece of shit he was. Samedi of course had rose to the challenge, but it proved to be an even bigger blunder. Given they promptly crash into one another in a mass of flailing, stupid looking limbs. Barreling over several desks [and trolls] in the process, screeching the whole way. 

The commotion, of course, finally woke the schoolfeeder up. Whom, after deducing that nothing was on fire nor was detention over. Took approximately far too fucking long to figure out what was going on because they were a drowzite addicted pail-sale. Exactly 4 trolls, not including Tybrus and Samedi had to go to the academy’s on-site hospitroll after she managed to get her head out of her nook long enough to strife with the real culprits and not a clawful of unlucky bystanders. The injured being carried out by their fellow students, but the offending wrigglers who had STARTED IT being tugged out by caprine ear and ear fin respectively. Let it be known that Jousir was a hardass beach who took no mercy on those poor auricular protrusions. Especially not the one belonging to a too-tall purple blood who pretty much had to bend double to keep up with her.

The Rectificator wasn’t impressed to say the least, having to apply a good deal of Fissure-B-Gone to Tybrus’s horns where they had cracked in the resultant plummets to the floor. It took two separate attempts to reset Samedi’s nose to where it was supposed to be, and the rest of the gaggle needed Ache-Away and some Chill-Paks to deal with the bruising. A successful night, as far as it was concerned. It had seen greater injuries in the class before. Frankly it was pathetic, not even a SINGLE casualty in a detention block brawl? Its chiding chitters still rang in the patients auricular clots long after it had trundled away on its stumpy, modified limbs. Given its propensity to desire more injuries [and therefore more work] it hadn’t bothered to separate any of them. Three ceruleans, one Indigo, a purple and a violet, all stuck in the same block. It sounded like the beginning of a very casteist joke but there wasn’t really a punch-line, considering the ceruleans were busy whining about how badly they were hurt, the Indigo’s claws were fidgeting hard with their tie doing everything troll-ly possible not to look at the highbloods glaring at each other from no more than a prong’s length away.

Or well, to be accurate, Tybrus was glaring. Samedi had kicked back with his strutpods up on some cotton-rectangles to treat what was definitely a “sprained” rotation joint. Really though he’d just wanted an excuse to take his shoes off because the disgust on the Seadwellers face at the sight of his decidedly untrimmed talons [which he had taken the time to paint a pleasingly mutant violet color, just as an extra affront to those delicate senses] was well worth having to take Calcite-Serum. Despite the pain throbbing up through his snout, he was grinning through the bandages.

“What’re y’lookin’ so fuckin’ ‘appy for?” He hissed, claws digging into the thin coverings of the gel-rectangle, threatening to pierce its delicate membrane as well.

“‘Cause I whooped yo’ ass in front’a ‘bout twenty trolls.” Tybrus snarls a little at the reply and turns to lean a little closer to his neighbor. Eyes narrowed, looking primed to bite if Samedi flinched.

“Y’didn’t beat ME, I broke yer fuckin’ nose ya coddamn liar! If any troll got beat t’was yer sorry arse.”  
That amount of poorly-bred fishy fuck sputtering caused Samedi to break into a fit of giggles. Which only incited Tybrus’s anger further, enough to swipe at him from his gel-rectangle. Missing by several inches and simply causing him to laugh even harder. It was obnoxious, it was boisterous-

It was hate, in its purest and truest form. That is what was coursing through Tybrus’s veins at that very moment. He had NEVER loathed a troll more in his [relatively] short existence than he loathed this one right here. With his gangly legs, his unclipped claws, messy hair, highly untidy uniform- and that was just the physical imperfections. He could go on for sweeps about all the LITTLE things about Samedi’s personality and habits he detested more and more with every growing moment. For one thing, he chewed on his writing utensils, he had a funny way of walking, an even FUNNIER way of talking. That obnoxious lilt it held, the way his ganderbulbs were almost always half lidded. The fact that he has no respect for Tybrus’s very real blood superiority. It was horrible and he hated every single second of it.

In other words, he had it bad.


End file.
